


Unspoken

by charmedatmidnight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Regulus being an off-screen ass, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedatmidnight/pseuds/charmedatmidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus is there to comfort Sirius after a fight with Regulus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [girlintheivy](http://girlintheivy.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for the prompt: After a fight with Reg

“ _Bloody fucking hell!_ _That little prick! Buggering shit!”_

Remus hears the storm approaching far before the door to the dormitory flies open to reveal a fuming Sirius Black, all dark eyes and brooding features. It only takes one quick sweep over him to see that Sirius is quite obviously livid. His eyebrows are pulled together in a deep frown, the crease across his forehead not distracting from his attractiveness even though it would on any other person. The line of his jaw is tense, its already striking contour made even more impressive with the rigidity of anger. His stormy eyes are boring a hole into some face that is only visible to Sirius as he stomps across the dormitory to fling himself down onto his bed. He makes sure to give a sharp kick to his trunk as he passes it, not bothering to mask a pained _fuck!_

Remus has seen Sirius in such a state a handful of times, all of which involved his family, or occasionally Snape, in one way or another. By now he has learned it is best to let Sirius fume until he deems himself ready to talk, if that ever happens, without simply releasing an incoherent stream of foul language. So Remus sits quietly on his bed, the Charms essay he had been working on completely forgotten on the mattress beside him. He watches Sirius carefully, studying the lines of his arms, eyes flitting over the muscles that jump and tense as he covers his face. His gaze briefly runs down his sprawled out form, lingering at the exposed strip of pale skin where his shirt has ridden up over his taut stomach.

“You know what he said? You know what he fucking said?!” His hands slide up over his face to tangle in his own hair. Remus’ eyes are quickly drawn back up his body as he waits expectantly. “He said I was selfish. He said I didn’t give a damn about anyone other than myself.” Remus knows that isn’t true, but he decides it wouldn’t be wise to interrupt Sirius. It’s something he has learned over the years. “He fucking said our mother’s right about me! He… Fuck! He believes her! Why’s he such a bloody prick?!”

“Regulus?” Remus doesn’t really need to ask for he can only think of two _he’s_ capable of eliciting this type of reaction: Severus Snape and Regulus Black. It’s more likely the latter of the two as Remus knows well enough that Sirius would have taken care of Snape himself. But not Regulus. Though Sirius claims to not care since leaving Grimmauld Place, Remus knows better. He can see the flicker of anger in those grey eyes anytime they settle on the younger Black. He notices the subtle tensing of the muscles in his shoulders at any mention of him, anytime he claims he doesn’t give a damn anymore.

But Remus notices. He knows. Sirius still cares, and that’s the only reason why anything related to Regulus still bothers him so.

“You know who,” comes the flat answer. Sirius seems to know that Remus knows. Silence falls over them as Sirius buries his face in his hands once more. Remus can barely make out muttered swears and Regulus’ name. He wants to assure him that what Regulus said isn’t true, that he only spoke out of anger for losing his brother. But Remus knows that Sirius won’t believe him. Sirius is stubborn, and once his mind is set there’s no hope of changing it. It’s something else Remus has learned.

“Moony,” Sirius breathes out after a moment, voice muffled by the hands covering his face. But Sirius doesn’t say anything else just yet. Instead, with a heavy sigh, he clambers off of his bed and quickly crosses over to Remus’, flopping down with his head nestled in Remus’ lap. Remus, having gotten used to being the one around to comfort the other boy during his outbursts, knows what will comfort him. He now knows how to control the whirring tempest that is Sirius Black, or so he likes to think. He brings his hand up to lightly run his fingers through the mess of dark hair now splayed over his thighs. A soft, easy sigh escapes from Sirius’ slightly parted, perfect lips.

His eyes falling shut as Remus’ fingers work through his hair. Remus simply stares down at him, his fingers gently combing through the dark strands, gently toying with them between his fingers. He doesn’t push Sirius. Pushing Sirius only fuels his temper, only serves to frustrate him and cause him to pull away. Remus has learned that, as well.

“And you know what he said about _you_?” Sirius only pauses to snort derisively and Remus is sure he is rolling his eyes behind closed lids. “The little git said you’re not good enough for me,” he spits out, venom dripping from his words. Remus can’t say he’s surprised. He had never thought Regulus was too fond of him because he was Sirius’ friend, but he certainly hadn’t expected for the young Slytherin to be any more accepting of him now that Sirius and he were…something.

“He said— The wanker said you were a half-blood and a ruddy Gryffindor and a _bloke_ and it was wrong and I shouldn’t— He said this was wrong, Remus.” His voice begins to rise. “Like he has any right to tell me what’s wrong and what’s right! He stayed there. With _them_. He _believes_ them. And then he has the nerve to fucking tell me _I’m_ doing things wrong! He… Shit, Remus, he said you’re not bloody good enough and I should fix myself and find someone else!”

Remus opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t care, that what Regulus thinks about them shouldn’t matter, that whatever the younger boy had said holds no merit, but the pained expression on Sirius’ face stops him. “Sirius,” he starts softly, his hand coming to rest on the smooth skin of his cheek. Sirius tilts his head into the touch. “Sirius, it doesn’t matter.” Only Remus knows it _does_ matter. It matters to Sirius. He can see it in the faint, lingering crease on his forehead. He can see it in the way the corners of his mouth tug down in a way that’s noticeable only to Remus.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Sirius mutters a stubborn, “It _does_ matter.” Words are left unspoken in that simple statement, silent words that invade the small space around them and between them. But Remus doesn’t need him to say anything to hear them.

_‘You **are** good enough for me. You’re **too** good for me. You’re more than I deserve. More than I could ever ask for. I love you, Remus. But he’s my brother. He’s my brother and I don’t want him to hate you. …I don’t want him to hate **me**.’_

Sometimes Remus forgets just how well he knows Sirius. Sometimes he forgets that all it takes is silence and a certain look for him to understand just what Sirius means, just what he’s thinking. Sirius seems to remember this, however, as he looks up at Remus, hurt obvious in his eyes.

It’s all Remus can do to lean down and gently kiss Sirius’ forehead.

_‘I know.’_

Sirius knows just what he means.

And it is in that soft kiss, those two unspoken words that Sirius breaks.

Remus sees. He sees the blink of grey eyes that’s barely more of a wince. He sees the faint lines of worry, of hurt and pain and sadness. He _sees_ that Sirius cares about his brother; not _notices_. Sirius is showing him. He is allowing Remus to see that which he never dares show anyone, he is telling Remus that which he can’t tell anyone else. He can’t say it out loud—his pride won’t let him—but he doesn’t need to. Remus hears it anyway. He hears, and Sirius knows he does.

Pulling his head from Remus’ lap, Sirius sits up and turns to lightly brush their lips together. “I don’t know what to do, Remus,” he admits, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Remus can’t say he knows the answer, despite Sirius believing he has _all_ the answers. “I don’t either, Padfoot,” he admits with a soft smile. “But I’ll be right here to help you figure it out. Promise.” He doesn’t know how much significance his promise will hold. After all, there really is only so much he can do to help Sirius. He intends to keep his promise, though, no matter how little help he’ll end up being. “I mean, us canines have to stick together, right?”

Sirius’ lips pull into a smile and Remus thinks that maybe he’ll be more help than he had thought. He can make Sirius smile, right? That’s got to count for something. “Right. We gotta stick together,” Sirius agrees with a soft laugh. It’s a good sound to hear, Remus decides, especially since he was upset mere minutes ago about his brother. But, as he has learned, such is the whirlwind called Sirius Black.

“I’ll hold ya to it, Moony,” he adds after a moment, and though there is a teasing tone to his voice, Remus can see him. He can see the glint in his eyes.

_‘Please don’t let me deal with this alone.’_

So Remus smiles and leans forward to kiss him slowly, bringing a hand up to rest on his cheek.

_‘I won’t.’_

Sirius smiles against his lips before pushing him backwards onto the mattress.

And it is as Sirius crawls over him to decorate his neck with light kisses that Remus decides that sometimes words are irrelevant. It is with the breathy moan that ghosts across his skin that Remus remembers they don’t need words to understand one another. Sirius seems to remember this as he slides his hand up beneath Remus’ jumper, his cool palm pressing against the warm skin there as a promise, a promise of the _thank you_ that he is about to receive.

Remus knows just what he means.


End file.
